The Messiah Has Come
by StarXEnoch
Summary: What would happen if Jesus Christ had chosen not to die on the cross, but take power as the King of Israel? How different would the world be? How different would humanity be? And how different would Jesus himself be? An intense exploration into the human side of Jesus.
1. The Weary Path

It is maddening business, creeping through your own homeland like a thief in the night. I wore a beggar's smock and kept my greatest treasure hidden in a brown knapsack. None of my subjects recognized me in the marketplace, behind the olive groves, or even in front of the Temple. It was easy to fool them, but I could never fool the Hosts of Heaven. They gladly reminded me, _Dreams last only as long as we let them._

I walked barefoot from my palace in Jerusalem to the Eastern border of Israel. Yes, this took a long time, but I did not mind. Time stopped having any meaning long ago.

The back roads led me to the great steel wall. My own builders swore it was impenetrable. No way in, no way out. But I had drawn up the blueprints myself and alone knew the way out. Now it would serve its use. I had grown curious to experience the Gentiles.

_Gentiles!_

I had heard so much about them…

Pig-eaters! Murderers! Idolaters! Defilers!

Many of my people believed they would have no place in the Purified World to Come. Others said that the Gentiles would be our slaves then. Some believed they would accept the Torah and become Saved. A few of the more eccentric rabbis taught that Gentiles were doomed to die and reincarnate until they accepted circumcision and became Jews.

This was all taught _before _I came to power. No, the first day I first sat on the throne of David I did away with all these beliefs. As far as I was concerned, the Gentiles were who they were, and we were who we were. As long as they would not bother us, we would not bother them.

This was not the expectation my people had for me. They expected me to conquer the world. But I was tired and ready for a long peaceful reign. I had seen very little of the Gentile lands during my lifetime, but I had seen enough to know I didn't want it.

But that was a long time ago. Now I was here.

I explored the kingdoms of of Ishmael. The highlight here was the big black hollow stone. I heard the wails from the inside but did not dare go in. I knew what lay inside: Three hundred and sixty idols. No one knew it, but these were the serpents of Eden. I had wrestled with many of them personally. Yet here they were enjoying their dominion.

I found a port and happily paid the exuberant fee for my own seat among the merchants. I did not ask where it was going, but was satisfied it was destined onward. If I was to explore the world I needed to get as far away from my blood kin as possible.

Lucky for me Jews and Arabs look similar, so I did not have to answer any difficult questions. I sat among the masses. Everyone pleaded to his own deity for safe travel, their wares scattered around them. I kept my head low, countering their prayers with my own.

We were headed to the Isles of Britannia. Fair enough for me. During that nine month voyage I kept to myself. I did not feel guilt for leaving my people. I had done so much for them already. I had given them orders on how to run the kingdom in my absence. The small council of mortals would handle the Affairs of State perfectly, provided they had paid any attention during our early morning briefings.

Oh yes. I knew this day had ben coming for a long, long time.

Those nine months passed as if in the twinkling of an eyes. I stepped off the boat and treaded forward, never looking back.

The bleeding sky hung low. The damp blades of grass were bent and brown. The wild stags were as malnourished as the dirt-dressed people. I was moved to tears of pity. Oh,_ how_ they tilled the ground with less luck than the children of Cain! Who among them had an inkling of understanding in science, art, or history? Who among them had ridden a ship? Read a book? Debated a point?

No king rallied them. No god united them.

I wondered if I should have included them in my kingdom. They would have been filled with my bread, and they would have drank the water of life. I remembered my armies back home and figured it was not too late to start the invasion.

Then a subtle truth crept in. A truth I did not want to admit, even to myself. I was never going back.

Without map or compass I zigzagged from village to village. The farmers watched me as if I were a squawking peacock. Already they decided I did not belong here. They turned their heads and shut their doors. They offered me nothing, though my stomach grumbled from not having a hot meal in so long. I sated my hunger through meditation techniques.

Long ago, when I was first starting out, I fasted in the wilderness for a litter over a month. I had received preparation from my cousin, who had studied with the monks of the desert. They were crazed lot, believing in separatism and predestination—but they knew how to renounce the sensations of the world. My cousin was all too eager to betray their secrets after immersing me in water.

Today was taking me back to those days. I slept in windy caves. I controlled my beard length with pointed stones. I prayed constantly.

High above, the heavenly hosts were migrating. They were as multicolor stars. Shards of blue, red, gold, and green. They moved in one steady direction. Onward. This too reminded me of my first experience in the wilderness, for after those forty days I was being tempted by demons and caressed by angels. And now I was seeing them again.

Just like old times.

It had been eons since I had been treated to a glimpse beyond the White Veil.

I prayed, _Abba, why are you showing this? Do you want me to follow them?_

The answer was in my legs. I stood up and walked in their direction.


	2. The Gentle Philosophers

I stumbled, strayed, and had to rediscover the trail many times. I had not walked the path of angels in such a long time. I was a bit out of practice. They led me to a sea-facing cobblestone manor. They hovered over it with their swords and shields thrust forward.

From the edges of the evening they came; dark shadows with gaping mouths and claws. They circled the house from a distance. They could not break through the angels' battalions but got steadily closer. I sprinted to the manor.

I did not know why the human guards let me pass by them. At the time I guessed it was because I ran so assuredly it looked like I had official business there. In hindsight I know their souls recognized me.

Four friends chatted quietly at the front door. As with the guards, they did not see the spirits above them. But they certainly saw me. They stopped talking and stared.

The group leader was a man covered in the scars of many battles. His unnaturally red beard was in contrast with his black locks. His stance was relaxed, yet his pupils were immersed in anger. He wore a dark brown tunic with gold buttons.

The eldest among them was a gray haired lady. Wrinkles weighed down her once-beautiful face. Her arms were covered in faded tattoos. A black shroud covered the body she must have loved to display.

The youngest among them was a lady in her early twenties. Her raven locks were curled in an intricate style unknown to me. Her lips and nails were painted red. Her curvaceous body was lovingly tucked into a diaphanous gown. Her smile seemed oddly genuine. In my many years I had met few who smiled in truth.

The most foreign among them was an Arab. He bore his perfumed beard and curly mustache with pride. His bright silks did little to hide his bulging stomach. He moved his hands in such a way that showed off his jeweled rings. The thick hairs sticking out of his green turban were not unlike mine.

Even though the Arab and I looked similar, my attire created a barrier between us. Between the blue fringes dangling off the corners of my robe and the blue skullcap pinned to the back of my head, I looked outlandish. I knew from personal experience that if I spoke first I would be more warmly received.

"Shalom," I said cheerily. "I bless you all in the name of Adoni, the god of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob."

They needed a minute to process my words. This was my first time attempting English and my Galilean accent was very thick.

The lord of the manor asked, "Who are you?"

"A weary and lonely traveller from Israel."

"Impossible!" the old lady snorted in Greek. "No one gets in or out of Israel. The steel wall sees to that!"

I gave laugh to match her snort. "There are always ways for those who know where to look."

She was not amused. "What business would an Israelite have with the outside world, when all his needs are met inside?"

"I felt the call to adventure. Dissatisfied with my lot. Curious to travel Gentile roads."

This was all true, though it was not the whole story. I knew better than to give my name or mention the angels. No need to burden them. Not yet anyway.

"What do you think of our country?" The beautiful young lady asked.

"Wholly depressing," I answered without hesitation. "I could have given that answer anywhere. I've been all over the globe. I just came from the Arabic kingdoms."

The Fat Ottoman sighed dramatically. "Your wisdom disappoints me."

The lord scratched his sideburns. "When was the last time you had a hot meal, Israelite?"

He was considering inviting me to dinner with them, an unusual practice for men like him. But his soul recognized me too.

"Nothing in a month."

"A month! How?"

I shrugged casually. "A few meditation exercises I've learned from my travels."

But there is something else I have not yet mentioned. No matter how I explain it, I cannot convey the power I have over my own body. My body, _and _my spirit.

This explanation would have to do for now.

"Would you like to break your fast with us?" he asked.

My barren stomach flared up. I glanced up at the angels. They were keeping the shadows at bay with ease. But the sky's corners still darkened with demonic legions.

In my humblest tone I said, "Thank you for your offer. But I cannot eat anything that violates the Mosaic Law."

The old lady moaned. Mustapha lighting jabbed her arm. She stopped. I pretended not to notice.

The lord asked, "Would lamb chops, potatoes, fried tomatoes, and red wine be violations?"

My mouth watered. "No, that is good and kosher!"

The Irish Beauty grabbed my arm and followed the lord into the stony hall. The other two followed close behind. Now was time to discover why the angels were defending this place. "Why are you four meeting here?"

She said, "We call ourselves the Gentle Philosophers. We've been meeting every Monday for the past three years. We never meet for business or war. The rest of the world can deal with those matters. What we care about are the secrets few think to discuss: The nature of good and evil, matter, time, the gods themselves! But we've exhausted all our topics. We've needed something new to explore. You are the answer to a prayer."

If only she knew...

She also reminded me of something I learned long ago. The battle between Heaven and Hell is internal. It is not fought on meadows of carnage, but among flickering torches such as these. It would seem the Adversary did not approve of their topics of discussion. The Adversary would certainly not be pleased I was here stirring things up.


	3. The Dinner Begins

The dinning room was a narrow rectangle adorned with dim tapestries. The table was already set. Nobody objected when I blessed the food.

"_Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam, hamotzi lehem min ha'aretz."_

"Blessed are you, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth the grain of the earth."

And when wine was poured…

"_Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu, Melekh ha'olam, bo're p'ri hagafen."_

"Blessed are you, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth the grape of the vine."

The lord sat at the head of the table and had the Arab sit at his right. I was put at the other end of the table, a great honor. The young lady sat on my left with the old lady on her other side.

I took off my sack at sat in on my right. Now every chair was filled. Six chairs for five people and one treasure.

I nibbled slowly as not to surprise my digestive system too much. Mostly I listened to my gracious hosts and asked few questions. They told me all about themselves.

Our lord's name was Alban. He stewarded the surrounding fifty acres. He was descended from a rich Roman centurion who came to live in Britannia after Tiberius Caesar was killed. Alban was raised to be proud of his strong Roman heritage, but also to enjoy the fruits of the Isles. A decade ago he had suffered through two political marriages, both wives killed by the harshness of winter. He had fought in over fifty battles and had lost many kinsmen. It was this sadness that led him starting this group. He planned to share anything he learned with his son, now only a few months old.

As for the old tattooed lady, she was a world-renowned Egyptian philosopher. She was the headmistress of a school built in honor of the Greek philosopher Plato, a rare feat for any woman. A master of mathematics, astronomy, and classic Greek thought: Hypatia of Alexandria.

The young beauty was an Irish lass named Shalott. She was no older than nineteen. As a slave in Alban's house she had been taught no practical trade except that of marketing her beauty. This was how she wormed herself into such a group. No one said it, but I sensed she was the mother of the sleeping baby in the other room.

The Arab's name was Cassim Mustapha, a wealthy Ottoman merchant who had traveled all over the world. He had collected a wide array of stories, historical understanding, and food—all of which piled up inside of him.

I enjoyed their company so much I almost forgot about the angels and demons. I leaned back and relaxed.

"But tell us about you," Alban said. "You've said so little this hour."

"My life is long and complicated."

"Well that's good. We have all night."

What could I say to these kind people who had taken me in? I had to share something with them. It would be an insult if I didn't. So I thought back to when I was a boy begging tales from my own mother. I cleared my throat and spoke softly.

"_One night the archangels Michael and Gabriel were curious about what humans were like. So they left their places beside the Throne of God and descended to Earth. Disguised as beggars they walked the Judean countryside. Michael and Gabriel knocked on every house they came to. They asked for a coin, a crust of bread, anything. Having every door shut in their faces, they were as disappointed as could be with their reception._

"_There was one last house to visit. It was in the back of a lonely impoverished village. At first Gabriel turned back, saying they might as well return to Heaven. But Michael took him by the hand and led him to the door. They knocked on it together. An old couple answered the door. They perceived the two strangers as having no place to stay and brought them in. They laid the table with all the food they had. And so Michael and Gabriel dined with their gracious hosts, blessing them to all prosperity."_

The aura of silence grew bright. Every Gentle Philosopher nodded. They liked stories. They liked meanings. Did they realize my story was celebrating their own sacred hospitality?

Hypatia was the first to speak. "I've heard that tale many times. Though I remember it being about Zeus and Hermes. I believe someone's culture is guilty of story theft."

My mouth curled upward. "Maybe. Can you tell me its moral?"

"Of course! The gods will reward those who bless them."

"Well, yes. But there is an even greater moral. The spirits who reside at the Throne of God will enter your house if you invite them in."

"That is not what the story means according to classical Greek thinking."

Careful to keep my tone in good humor I sneered, "Classical Greek thinking? The Greeks did not know everything."

Everyone sat up and leaned forward. Their patriarchs had just been called out!

Hypatia clamped her hands into fists. "You want to challenge the first great thinkers of humanity?"

I leaned back and folded my hands. "Yes. Let's have an exercise. An exercise in philosophy."

I chose a concept that made sense to me, but not them. A concept all too personal…

"Let's say there was...a person, a mortal man made of flesh and bone. And he ate, drank, and slept like everyone else. He felt the human emotions of joy and despair. He had a mortal mother. But his father…"

"Zeus?" Hypatia chimed in. "Poseidon? Hades? Some lesser spirit? Yes Jew, we know of such men. Have you truly never heard of Hercules and Perseus?"

I waved my hand to cut her off. "I mean to say his father was more than just a mere deity. His father was immortal, perfect, and all-encompassing."

"Impossible," Hypatia said. "This _father _you speak of is an abstract concept."

"The Greek philosophers _love _abstract concepts, do they not?" I asked.

Hypatia went on. "It would never create a child with a mortal woman. Abstract concepts have no way of entering the world of men. Plato himself described how big that gulf is."

"Let us play his game," Alban said with a smirk. "What would it mean if Plato was wrong? What would the son of such a figure be like?"

"Such a man would have to be perfect," Shalott said. "He would never sin against gods or men. So I guess all his movements would be fluid and graceful."

"Not necessarily," Alban said. "Stumping one's toe in the middle of the night is not a sin. Neither is enjoying the company of beautiful women."

"Even the gods enjoy that!" Hypatia laughed. "But this man, this divine man, would have all-encompassing wisdom. He would have the knowledge of time itself. This is why he cannot exist, Such knowledge is far too vast for any mortal man to handle."

I rose my hands and said, "Perhaps it would strengthen and wane depending on when he needed it."

"And who would decide when he needed it?" Alban asked.

"His Holy Father."

Everyone's eyes trailed off, and at once I knew I had truly lost them. And far away, I heard the Serpent's laughter.


	4. King of the Zealots

_((AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some people have been expressing concerns to me in the PM's that this story is blasphemy. I understand these concerns completely, but I ask that everyone keep an open mind until Chapter 6. That is when the big twist is revealed. If you think it is still blasphemy after that, I respect your view and understand why you won't continue reading. But if you stay, I can promise you a fun ride that ultimately gives Glory to God. Thank you.))_

Mustapha held up his wine glass and swirled it. "How exactly would the divinity be mixed in. Would this man have extra organs and veins tending to his divine needs?"

I shook my head. "No. No mortal man can comprehend his divinity."

"But if the divine man himself is mortal, does that mean even he can't understand?" Shalott asked.

Hypatia laughed, "A divine man who can't know himself! Cursed to ponder the paradox of his existence!"

I glanced up at the roof and remembered the glittering angels. My soul shone brighter than any of them.

"Who here has heard of Jesus the Nazarene?"

Another long pause.

"I know a little," Alban said coolly.

"Humor me. Tell me what you know of him."

Alban sighed and rolled his eyes. "I know he was a Jewish war hero. He gained popularity as a teacher, a rabbi they called him. He threated the status quo of the religious leaders and the occupying Romans. They planned to trap him one night in the Garden of Gethsemane. When they came to arrest him his army sprang out of hiding and killed them all. His army sailed to Rome and burned it to the ground. My mother said he beheaded Tiberius with his own blade."

"I heard Jesus had Pontius Pilate crucified along side of the family of Herod," Shalott said.

"Some say his army was two thirds angel," Hypatia said. "He had the strength of Hercules and the spirit of Perseus. Legend has it one day the Israelites will take up their Messiah's sword and conquer the rest of the world."

"I am he." My beard shook lightly as I spoke. "I am Jesus of Nazareth, and for the last few centuries I have been hailed as the King of the Zealots."

What followed next was not a hallowed silence, but a parade of snickers.

"So you're the reason why Israel shut itself off from the rest of the world?" Shalott asked.

"Yes. We were tired of dealing with you goyim."

"You're so well preserved," Alban said, "for such an ancient man. A man who sent my ancestors running for the hills."

"I can only be killed when my Father wills it. I am the Divine Man."

Mustapha wiped his mouth his sleeve. "Can you do magic?"

"_Magic _is not the right word. I used to do miracles, but not now. I am a man in every way, though immortal."

"Will you tell us your life story?" Shalott asked.

I was in the deep, past the point of no return. So I opened that book. That special book. I hadn't read it in such a long time. I began at the beginning. I was born of a virgin.

"Not hard to believe at all," said Hypatia. "The tales of old are full of virgin births. You could be Dionysus' half brother."

I ignored her and spoke of my trials in the desert. I was tempted to turn stone into bread, jump off the roof of the Temple, and to bow to the Adversary.

"So, like Siddhartha, you faced temptations as you sought enlightenment," Mustapha said.

I went on, telling of the excitement I caused during my ministry. Among other things I walked on water, healed the blind, and rose people from the dead.

"What type of lessons did you teach?" Shalott interrupted.

I was caught off guard. "Are you sure you want not want to hear about my miracles? There was this one time I cast a whole legion of demons out of a madman. I sent them into a herd of wild swine. They leapt into the..."

Shalott put her hand on my shoulder in a way both gentle and firm. "Please rabbi. I am not impressed. I've heard about magic my whole life. I want to know what you taught."

"Devotion to God."

"Which one?" Hypatia snickered.

Shalott kept her hand on me.

I explained the monotheism of my people, Our Law. I painted the picture of my ministry. It did not abolish the works of Moses, but built upon them. I steadily went through the parables and lessons, drawing out each detail.

_Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy..._

_Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God..._

_Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God..._

_You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' __But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in Heaven..._

Alban did not listen with the humor of a Gentle Philosopher, but with the concern of an old warrior. "I have a question. How can you go from teaching mercy to leading an army against Rome?"

"You don't believe a man can be both merciful and wrathful?" I asked.

"No, but your actions don't match your words. No one can go from being a prince of peace to a war hero without something happening. What changed you?"

The light of the angels faded away. The darkness grew brighter. Sweat dripped down my brow. My mouth did not want to open. I avoided his gaze.

Alban slammed his fists down on the fragile table. "Answer me Nazarene!"

But how could I answer him? What could I say?


	5. The Divine Mission

There was another part of my life story I had not told the Gentle Philosophers. I had no desire to. It was such a personal part, I wanted to keep it to myself. It was before my virgin birth. Before the Creation of the World!

Long ago, before time began, the Maker of all Things called me into His Heavenly throne room. For you see, He was going to do something that had never been done before. He was going to create a universe. A universe of sights and sounds. A universe of thoughts and ideas. A universe of a million thoughts and a trillion turns. And those spiritual entities called angels would only be minor players in it, for this would be a _physical _universe made for those of flesh and blood.

As I bowed lowly before Him he announced, "My son, I have a job for you. A most important job. A job only you can fulfill."

And out of my love for my Father, I agreed.

These were not the true words my Father spoke to me. And there was no throne room. And I did not bow because I had no physical body. But I am telling this tale in the language of mortals, and must adapt it likewise.

But rest assured, I existed prior to my virgin birth. I always existed. In those days I was the _Word _of God. Some have called me the _Logos. _Others, the_Shekinah. _This is who I was before I was Jesus. Before I was Yeshua.

I am the very presence of God within the physical world. I am His right arm. His ray of light. Just as the Sun has rays of light that give light to the world, so to for God. I extend from God, touch the world, and am always fully connected to both.

If someone were to say that I am God, they would be correct. But I am reliant on the Father for my existence, and the Father relies on no one. He knows everything I know, but I do not know everything He knows. There are secrets He keeps from me, and out of my love for Him I stay faithful to Him even in the mysteries.

Everyone who has ever sought to follow God knows what this is like.

I ask you, my mortal reader, to try to understand everything I say. Please, I implore you, _do _make the effort!

But I must return to the original mission given to me by the Father. At the time of His choosing I left my place from his right-hand side. I took on a mortal shell and wore it well.

Once upon a time my spirit filled the entire universe. Now it filled an eight-ounce body.

Once upon a time I was completely beyond space and time. Now I was feeling joy, depression, sickness, hunger, thirst, reluctance, anticipation…

The weirdest one was arousal. I never knew what to do with that one. For I, the Word of God, had seen the daughters of Pharaohs, the wives of Solomon, and the concubines of Herod. But as a human being, none of them matched the elegance of a Hebrew vixen.

But I must return now to Alban's question. Why had I gone my own way?

The answer was wrapped in God's original task. But I could not bring myself to tell the Gentile Philosophers what it was. I tried, but the words stuck to my throat. I did not want to think them, but they could not be ignored.

With a whimper I finally let out, "I don't want to be crucified."

My voice was so soft only Shalott heard me. She repeated my words for everyone to hear.

Alban's curiosity was leading him to anger. He bellowed, "Then don't be crucified!"

My head sunk into my neck.

"Who is saying you have to be crucified?" he asked.

I huddled myself into the tiniest ball I could. But Shalott asked so softly, "Who, rabbi?"

I took a few deep breaths. "God."

"God?" Hypatia asked.

"Yes, God! Adoni! Avinu! HaShem! Call Him any name you wish! But He is the One!"

"Why?" everyone asked in unison.

"To pay for the sins of the world."

They still did not understand, so I quoted from the Scroll of Isaiah for them.

"'_He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.'"_

I grew stronger with the quoting of Scripture. I sat up straight and flattened my palms on the table.

"This is the reason why I was born, why God sent me. Beyond teaching and miracles, to atone for humanity's sins… And I have to do it willingly."

"A blood payment," Hypatia whispered in horror. "I know them all too well. Truly you _are_ Heaven sent!"

And like me, she began to weep.


	6. The Messiah's Knowledge

My sobbing died down after a few minutes. I told them, "When you are left alone in the Garden of Gethsemane, you have nothing to think about but you own death. All my friends were asleep. Four cups of Passover wine will do that to you. All I could do way lay there and think about crucifixion. I've seen it plenty of times before, but I hadn't felt it."

The pain in my wrists and hands would be the least of it. I would be hanging there, propped up only by my legs. Eventually they would lose their strength and I would slump, only the spikes in my wrists would not let me. I would hang there like a man drowning, occasionally mustering up the energy to come up for air. But eventually I would lose the strength to do even this, and the process to suffocation would quicken.

This is why crucifixion is only reserved for those who fight against the Roman Empire. I would find myself among murderers and thieves, and even at the point of my death, I would be compelled to extend my love to them.

Most people took die this way. But I would already be bleeding to death from the abuse I received from both the Jewish officials and Pontius Pilatus. Most criminals did not receive this kind of special treatment. After the beatings and the scourging, it would only take me a few hours to die on the cross.

Lucky me.

Once again, I did not reveal the full truth to the Gentle Philosophers. How could I explain to them that three days later I would rise again? Not only this, but I would have all of Heaven and Earth under my authority! Why couldn't I explain to my friends that for me, the cross was not the end, but the beginning?

Quite possibly, because this promise of new life would not mean a whole lot during my uphill clime. It is so hard to see the other side when the shadow of a crown of thorns blocks your vision. But God is merciful, and during my time in the garden he sought to strengthen me. This was a part of the story I_could _tell.

"When I was praying in the Garden of Gethsemane I began to sweat blood. So God sent Gabriel to cradle me. But not even he could sooth me."

"So you went your own way," Shalott said with a hint of disgust. "Your Father was leading you down one road and you took another."

I smiled bitterly. Would they accept this next revelation? Probably not, but I felt the need to tell them anyway. "I'm still there, in Gethsemane."

"No, you are here with us," Alban said.

"No, you are there with me."

"A man cannot be two places at once," Mustapha said. "Everyone knows that."

"I am still there, in mid-tear, cradled by Gabriel. Through gentle philosophy I've been exploring the long-term effects of a military victory. I've imagined eons, but in reality hardly a second has passed. You might think such a thing is impossible, but everyone knows how powerful imagination is. Imagine how powerful it is if it belongs to the Son of God."

This is the truth of it. Even in my imagination, I am no sinner, for I know where I am, and who I am called to be.

"So, we're all in your head?" Hypatia asked as she wiped away her tears.

This was a hard question. Were they ready to entertain the theory that they might all be reflections of my mind, for when one is alone, one turns inward.

The only answer I gave her was, "At the moment, yes, kind of."

"Does that mean we do not exist?" Shalott asked.

"No, you really do exist. Just not in the way you think."

My hosts looked sick to their stomachs. Hypatia looked like she would vomit.

Mustapha stood up, collected his thoughts, and sat back down. "What is it like? To be so powerful…as to create a world that does not even exist, and escape within it?"

I laughed. He did not see it the way I did. "I've always had the power to explore reality in ways others could not. It…comes with the territory. It is like a library. A giant library filled with books on every subject imaginable. Nearly all the books are available to me. The Father chooses a few to keep to Himself. But He lets me into the library whenever I wish."

"How do you handle such a large repertoire of knowledge?" he asked, his eyes narrowing with envy.

"I can only read one book at a time. It is the only way for me not to be burdened with irrelevant knowledge. My brain is a man's brain. It can only hold so much. But this book I am reading right now is very special. It tells the tale of all that will occur if I flee from my destiny, and I get to write in it."

But this book felt all too real. And I had the power to make it real. One snap of my fingers and it would be. And I would never have to face the cross.

But I could never face my Father again. Even inside this book, I was getting a taste of what it was like to separate from Him in this way. I am his sun-ray, but what does a sunray do on its own?

Does it wander through the world as a hopeless vagabond? Does it destroy itself? Does its light go out little by little, or all at once?

Alban burst out of his chair. "Wretch! I invite you into my house and you repay us with tales that would cross Jupiter's eyes!"

Mustapha extended his hand out to him. "Sit down."

Alban looked at him, then at me, then back at him. For the sake of peace he returned to his chair. "Why don't you imagine what would happen if you _did_die on the cross? Wouldn't you rather see that?"

"Believe me, it was the first thing I tried. But God would not let me. He wants that to be known only to Him."

As a matter of fact, that particular book was chained to the alter. I could glimpse at a page or two, but I could not turn them. I knew Resurrection and Ascension, and a fee other details, but not as much as I'd like.

I could not see the last page, when I would return to the world with all the fury of King David. Only the Father knows the time and place.

Alban nodded sarcastically. "So He let's you see the consequences of conquest, but not the glory of martyrdom!"

During this exchange Shallot's smile never faded. She spoke softly, "Perhaps we could lend our Jesus a hand. Can we speculate on what would happen if he _did_ die to the cross?"

"Do you believe I am telling the truth?" I asked her.

She hesitated to answer. "I don't know. I believe you believe it."

"In any case," Alban said uneasily, "this is one night we are not bored."


	7. Remembering Miriam

Out of my four friends, the one who had shown me the most kindness was Shalott. She was the simplest of them all—no vast knowledge or wisdom. Only good, old-fashioned kindness. She reminded me one of the most important women in my life.

Miriam of Migdal.

Or as she is known in the vernacular, Mary Magdalene.

So much has been said about her—most of it untrue. Only I knew the truth, she supported me in a way no male ever could. Hot-headed men are prone to ask questions and challenge and fight. But not her. She was a lady of soothing ointments, soothing songs, and soothing hands.

Oh, yes, she was beautiful.

I met her in the same place I met most everyone else—the coast of the Sea of Galilee. Her village was the right-light district of Judea. Only the most beautiful harlots could compete there. I was passing through expecting to gain another disciple. What I got was so much more.

For years she had been terrorized by the seven demons attached to her, and it took no effort on my part to disconnect them. She was so grateful. And she clung to me, staring up in wide-eyed loyalty.

Between her _thank-you's _she asked what she could do to repay me. Her free-flowing hair cascaded onto me. Her flesh was so soft. Her perfume was so sweet. Her dress was so loose.

On that day she would have done anything I told her to. And with time, her servitude would only increase. And my twelve closest men would only consider it my right, whatever I commanded her.

And in that moment I realized just how careful I needed to be. I had the power to do her great harm, even if she would not perceive it that way. So I gently backed away and put up that shield I put up with everyone.

The shield of Messiahship.

I spoke to her not as a man, but as God. And even when God descends to a person's level, he is never truly on their level.

The Messiah has many problems, but he must set aside them all to meet the needs of others. It is not his place to take council from others, or to use others to meet his emotional desires. His fate his known. Even though he is constantly surrounded by brave warriors who would follow him to death, he is always alone.

Miriam of Migdal became my great female disciple. She helped fund my ministry. And I occasionally let her touch me when my personal needs became too great. But make no mistake, she was never anything more than a disciple.

I am a man, but I did not come to earth to live a man's life.

God granted the first man a companion, even in a perfect world. Every patriarch had at least one wife. All of my disciples who were of age had wives. But who does the Son of Man have.

God the Father, in all His infinite faculties, needs only Himself not be lonely. He is not a pure soul in a world where there are no pure souls. He exists in a time and space all His own. But I do not.

And truthfully, it would have been unfair to make Miriam of Migdal my wife. I was already married to my work. I could not properly give her to attention she deserved. And I was to leave her soon. What kind of savior would I be to leave my lover alone on this earth, possibly with a child.

All of my brothers struggled to feed their families. I could not in good conscious force one of them to take in Miriam of Migdal just because I wanted a lover of the last two-and-a-half years of my life.

These are the things the Son of God contemplates when he is alone. Which is all the time.

And yet, as I looked around the table, I realized I had exposed my heart in such a way I had never done before. All of my fears and vulnerabilities laid out on the table for them to pick at. Was this God's way of answering my unasked prayer. I had my sympathetic young vixen closest to me, and the greatest thinkers I had ever met not too far off.

There was very little I needed to say now. The were ready to pick up my vulnerabilities and carry them the rest of the way.


	8. Visions of the Future

Everyone's chin rested on fisted hands. They wondered the question I had wondered many times, even in the midst of my vision.

Mustapha stroked his beard. "So many factors to consider, but safe to say the Jews will not seal themselves off in their iron wall, and will still be under Roman rule until it falls."

"What makes you think Rome could fall without an enemy as great as Jesus?" Alban asked.

"All things must pass, even Rome. But that is not the point. Jesus' mission is spiritual, but physical. Success lies in how well Jesus' disciples proclaim his message after he is gone. They will face resistance from every direction. Rome will be the worst persecutor."

Hypatia said, "I see a conflict in Judaism. Jesus said no man can comprehend his divinity. Unless his nature can be explained in a distinctly Jewish way, with Jewish terms, what Jew will believe in him? Jesus might very well get swept up in the pantheon and become another demigod among many."

Shalott asked, "Do you think there could be wars between monotheists and polytheists? Both sides wanting to claim him?"

Mustapha said, "Only if political power was involved. Otherwise they will simply fight over him in the taverns."

I pointed out, "You're forgetting the fact that God is always in control."

"Does he not also honor free will?" Mustapha asked. "He obviously honors yours. The sins made in your name will reverberate forever. I suspect this terrifies you."

"Yes," I said. "A constant fear."

A shiver swam down my spine. Even though I could not flip through entire book, I could read a page or two, and I saw a little more than just my glorious resurrection and ascension. And at this particular moment, I was seeing more than I have ever seen before.

Knights on horseback bearing the banner of the Cross. They fight for King and Country in the Holy City of Jerusalem. Their enemies bear the sign of the crescent moon, and between these two forces my own people the Jews are slaughtered and scattered.

My own people the Jews! They have always been persecuted. It is part of their destiny. And should I go through with God's plan, I will have to allow them to launch a failed revolt against the Roman Empire. Jerusalem will be burned to the ground. The Temple will be destroyed a second time. My bloodkin the Jews will dispersed all over the globe.

_The diaspora! _When it is day they will wish it were night, and when it is night they will wish it were day.

But the bearers of the Cross will not by there to help them. The Jews will not see my glory or my compassion through them. On the contrary, the bearers of the Cross will perceive the Jews as my murderers.

"_Christ Killers!"_

Passion plays will dramatize my execution, putting the blame on the Hebrew race. Synagogues will be burned to the ground. Men, women, and children will be beheaded. And their killers, the bearers of the Cross, will hold aloft their heads and shout, "Do you accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?"

Jews will be forced to accept baptism and hide their heritage. And quite often, not even _this _will save them from the axe.

And it will be in my name.

And the bearers of the Cross will wonder why the Jews will not accept me as Messiah. They will point fingers in all directions, but never at themselves.

What kind of savior would I be if I allowed by own would-be followers to do this? How can I go through with God's plan, knowing the destruction it will cause? Not just to the Jews, but countless others…

I see witch burnings. Confessions made under torture. Exotic lands being colonized and the natives enslaved. Holy war! I see blood and fire and corpses of newborn babies. And I hear, among the wails of women and children, the oft-said phrase…

"_Christ is with us!"_

There are many variations of this phrase. Sometimes it is, _"God is with us," _or _"May God's will be done," _or, _"May God's will be done!"_

And no matter how much nonviolence I preach, I will not stop these visions from coming true. If I die, resurrect, and ascend, they will happen. What kind of savior would I be to allow this?

And yet, did not God allow Adam and Eve to eat the forbidden fruit? Did He not let Cain kill Abel? Did He not allow the world to become wicked?

God punishes sin, make no mistake, but He also allows sin to happen in the first place. Free will is one of God's greatest gifts. And if I am to fulfill my destiny, I must give it to my people as well.

I see beautiful things as well. The records of history have a tendency to focus on the tragedies. Tragedy has always been more interesting than beauty. But I see the bearers of the Cross creating orphanages and hospitals. The faint concept of these things had existed in the past, but had never before been brought to their full potential. I see lives being saved and my name being glorified.

I see my Church becoming the world's largest provider of healthcare one day. And I am proud.


	9. Forever Human

I was brought back to the present by Mustapha, who said, "Answer me one more question, Divinity Man."

"For you, anything," I said.

"What will happen to you after you complete your mission, assuming you do?"

He meant no insult in his words, but they still had _bite_ in them.

I leaned back and thought. "My mission on Earth will never be completed. It is never-ending. Even after my personal ministry is fulfilled, my spirit will dwell with my disciples. And one day I will physically return to the world to abolish and purify it. After that I rule over it forever."

"Like you do with Israel now?" Alban asked.

"No," I said bitterly. "Not like now. Now I am completely withdrawn within myself. I act without the Father's command."

"But all of this is only in your mind?" Hypatia asked. "You can still break out it?"

"Yes," I said. "That's my problem. This space is so comfortable, but so sad too. And I know it's not real. Not really real."

I had trailed off. I remembered Mustapha's question. "To finish my answer, when I am done on this earth_, albeit temporarily, _I will return to my rightful place on the right hand of the Father."

"You will return there?" Hypatia asked. "When were there before?"

"Before I became human."

Once again, I knew I had lost them. I took the time to properly explain my eternal nature. In no short time, they all understood the concept of the _Word of God. _Out of all of them, Mustapha seemed the most comfortable with it.

"So when will you are done here, you will leave your mortal body, and return to being the Word again, right?"

He swirled his wine glass again, as if the secret of my divinity was hidden in it. I watched him, and did not respond until he looked up.

"No my friend, I am destined remain forever human. I will never return to being the Word."

Shallot put her hand firmly on mind, as if the correct some error. "You _are _the Word."

"Yes, " I said with a sad smile. A weak chuckle escaped my lips. "And I always will be. But I am destined to be forever contained inside a human body."

"Why?" asked Alban.

"Father's orders. He wants a part of him to remain forever human. Every experience, every emotion, every thought—He wants to keep."

I paused, allowing someone the opportunity to speak. But everyone was leaned forward, expecting me to elaborate, so I did.

"God, by His own nature, is eternal and never changing. But this is the one part of Him that does. He knows everything about his human children, but He was not experienced their pains. The pains of being finite, hungry, cold…"

I held up the last item left on my plate—a cold roll. Clutching it so tightly it crumbled I said, "Now that He has these experiences He will not let them go. He is jealous to keep them. Through me, He will."

"And how does that make you feel?" Shalott asked.

A loaded question if there ever was!

This body! This flawed shell of aches and bruises! It could exchange hugs and kisses! The first kiss I ever received from my mother Miriam, and then from her husband Yospeh. I was generous with my own kisses. I gave them to brothers, sisters, friends, companions, and disciples alike.

I could not deny the deep affection I had for this warm vessel.

So to answer Shalott's question I said, "It is one of the most interesting parts of my journey."

But she was not satisfied with my answer. So I added: "It is the hard part, and the good part."

The night was getting late.

My time with the Gentle Philosophers was dwindling. I could feel it. I was never one to stay in the same place for very long. I was one who came, made my point, and moved on.

A change was coming that not even I could discern. Surly, some new revelation was at hand. And it was coming to rock the heels of the Son of God.


	10. It Is Accomplished (FINAL)

I scanned my Gentile Philosophers over once again. They had come to see me differently over the course of the night. They looked at me now not as a vagabond they were providing charity for, or a maniac they were playing with, or even a warrior king they were serving.

They saw me as God. Plain and simple. They saw me as God.

Except that God is never _just _plain and simple, is He?

I have said before that even when God comes down on someone's level, He is never _truly _on their level.

While is certainly true, I can honestly say that I was on the same level as the Gentile Philosophers.

And they saw me as God.

It was the greatest gift they could have given me, but I still needed them for one more task.

"There is one last matter to dwell on," I told them. "The issue of salvation."

They hung onto my every word, and they understood.

"Ever since the fall of Adam all of mankind has been weighted down by the burden of sin. The burnt offerings of ignorant animals only cover up sins _temporarily. _Mankind needs an eternal sacrifice who goes to the alter in full knowledge. If I do not say yes to the Father's wish, no one will, for no one else can. And the souls of men and women are doomed."

"Why did God design the universe in this way?" Shalott asked. "Why did He create good and evil, and then set them at odds with each other?"

She was coming along. I noticed that about her. But she still did not realize the power of her questions.

Oh, I could have taken her question in a million different directions! A hundred million!

I could have asked her if she saw evil as merely the natural opposite of good, or if she saw it as its own separate entity. I could have asked her she thought good and evil needed each other to exist, or if good could exist on its own. I could have asked her if she thought the Adversary was the first to create evil, or simply was the first to act upon it.

I could have asked her any number of things. But instead, I said this:

"God wants to create a world of perfection and love. But we live in a world of free will, where people have the choice to choose God for who He is. Those who choose to obey God will be resurrected in the World to Come. Those who do not will be condemned."

"But people have blood on their hands, so to speak, according to you. Even the righteous ones," Hypatia said. "Where are they now?"

"All souls await my coming," I said. "They await the fulfillment of God's promise."

"But if the fulfillment of God's promise never comes?" Alban asked.

"Then their blood will be on their own hands," I answered. "The wage of sin is death. They will pay the price themselves. They will die forever."

"And this applies to all people?" Hypatia asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Your mother and earthly father?" Mustapha asked. "Your brothers and sisters? Your friends? Your followers?"

"Us?" Shallot asked.

I nodded.

The tables shrunk in size, only it did not. It was the same size, but somehow it felt like we were all closer together.

Even so, I was all the more aware that I was still in the garden, awaiting my arrest. If I squinted my eyes, I could see the faint outside of Gabriel's shadow.

I heard a great battle cry and looked up. The angels and demons above the manor had been standing patiently this whole time. The had not been fighting. They had been watching me, seeing what I would do. But now they were demanding an answer.

"_Stay here!" _the demons yelled. _"Stay here indefinitely. You have the power. It is a rare gift, to stop time forever, but you have it! Use it! Use it and free yourself!"_

The angels did not speak. They knew what I knew: If I stayed here long enough, eventually this fantasy of mine would become real. And God's plan would be ruined forever.

I looked away from the angels and demons above the house. And I blocked out all sign of Gabriel. Just for this moment, I had the luxury of talking with the Gentile Philosophers.

I remembered the knapsack sitting beside me. I had not touched it all this time, but it now it was humming. The treasure inside was calling to me. I put my right hand on the top of my knapsack and clutched it tightly.

Hypatia was intrigued. "What is in there?"

The movement of heat shifted. It no longer emanated from the fireplace, but from within my treasure. I took it out with the same care I would employ when lifting a newborn. It was my heart; a series of lambskins rolled on two gilded rods of wood.

"Everywhere I go...I take the Torah with me."

I unraveled it, showing the Hebrew that had been so delicately inked on each lambskin. My friends stood up as I did.

"This is no copy, but the very one penned by Moses' own scribe." I found that he had been scrolled up at the end of Genesis. _"Ah!_ The story of Joseph!"

"Who was Joseph?" Alban asked.

"The favorite son of Jacob. Joseph was betrayed by his brothers. They sold him into slavery. He suffered in Egypt until he predicted the coming of a great famine. The pharaoh made Joseph second in command, and Joseph saved enough food to feed the known world."

My own enthusiasm mystified me. I was still a rabbi, even after so long. I could still hold an audience captive. My friends crowded around, staring at the Hebrew they had never been exposed to.

"Eventually Joseph's brothers knelt before him. He had the power to have them tortured or killed. But after years of feeding the Gentile Nations Joseph decided to restore the children of Israel. He embraced his brothers and was reunited with his father."

Hypatia put her hand over mine. "Is that the way you taught your emissaries to teach?"

I nodded. She clasped my hand all the tighter. "Then you have great reason to be excited."

"Why?" I asked.

Mustapha spoke loudly, "The sailor does not love Poseidon. He fears him. The gods are not adored. They are appeased. But to hear 'God is One'... To hear His son was willingly sacrificed for man's shortcomings... this idea will not be taken lightly. Even if all else fails, this cornerstone will remain. Such a cornerstone will no doubt yield great acts."

Shalott brushed her hand through my hair. "Mercy, forgiveness, fellowship... Aren't you curious to see your tree blossom?"

Hypatia mused, "I wonder if there will be room in the greatest library for all your scrolls."

"Yeshua," said Alban, "In my many days I've had many, many children. I've despaired as they failed me and failed themselves. But haven't I also beamed as they did all the things that made me proud of them?"

One by one, the Gentle Philosophers laid hands on me. First Alban put his hand on my left shoulder, then Mustapha. Shalott put her hand of my right shoulder, then Hypatia.

The words of Torah blazed like the coals that purified Isaiah. In a flash I knew why the forces of good and evil had gathered here. This table was chosen. Chosen to be the place where I was to share a meal with the nations of the world. And these were not the angels and demons created by God. They were the ones created by me. No matter where I went in the physical world, they were always within me.

I remembered the Israel in need of restoration. I remembered the Gentile Nations in need of bread. I called out to all of them. My voice was soft but firm. Each word stood on its own as a complete thought.

"I have made my decision."

Fire rose from the Inferno. The serpents of Eden struck out at me. Yet I was not afraid. I grabbed each one, never minding the fangs. I snapped every neck and threw each carcass into the flames. And the fantasy broke.

I was not sharing a meal with the Gentle Philosophers. I was kneeling in Gethsemane. Sweet Gabriel held me tight. I looked into his eyes and saw my Father staring back.

"_Not my will, but your will be done."_

Over the hill strode Judas with the guards. I leapt to my sleeping disciples. _"Wake up! Now is the time!"_

I was kissed, shackled, and led away.

My Father was gracious. He opened the window always hidden from me. I watched my name be led through the ages.

The smoke of the fire of the Library of Alexandria choked my throat. The sweet tears of Poor Hypatia sat on my tongue. She was tortured, killed, and thrown at my feet. Her murderers had my name on their lips.

Mustapha heard about her murder on his travels. He married the lady who told him the story, a daughter of the tribes of Mecca. They had many, many children. Mustapha shared his knowledge with them, and they passed it on to their descendants. This led to Mustapha's great-great grandson publically proclaiming, "God is One." Mustapha did not live to see the idols of the black stone smashed to pieces, save one moon god. Mustapha's descendant was an orphaned caravan raider, but used his knowledge of the prophets to fuel his great empire. And the bloody sibling rivalry between Isaac and Ishmael propelled into the future.

In the British Isles my ideals were used for purposes of unification. Their religion was the prime political power, to the point that it dictated the organization of the calendar. Alban started life as an emperor-worshiping pagan. He provided lodging to persecuted priests and philosophized with many of them. Finally he made the bold choice to become my disciple. That decision cost him his life. He was beheaded on a date lost to everyone but me, the first British martyr.

Shalott was never born at all. The events that connected her bloodline were offset with the expansion of Christendom. But Gracious God did not let her cease to exist. He sent her soul into another body. She was reborn in the fourteenth century. Our meeting was ripe in her subconscious; she evoked my time many times as she led her French armies to victory.

My four friends traveled different roads, never crossing paths. They never formed the Gentle Philosophers. They would never know each other, yet in some way they all knew of me.

But then I saw something far greater. An event that dwarfed anything I had ever been shown. A vision that stays with me now, even as I hang on the cross.

Armies of angels descending from Heaven to Earth, visiting human households. Carrying torches, lampstands, jars of oil. Acting independent of humanity's workings. Whether man strays right or left, they always come. The Adversary is driven away to the Outer Darkness, never to return to the mind of man.

Indescribable ecstasy captures my soul. The spirits who reside at the Throne of God! Knocking not just on the doors of the Jews but of all nations! The blessings of the Lord are too numerous to be counted. His fire is greater than the sun. His love is deeper than the sea. His messengers speak in different tongues, but their song is the same.

"_Glory to God! The Messiah has come!"_

And they join me in my chorus. "It is accomplished! It is accomplished! Abba, into Your hands I commend my Spirit!"


End file.
